Thursday, May 28, 2009

Ahhh vacations...

You know it's going to be a bad flight when you spot a guy taking a picture of you from across the waiting area at the gate.

Oh yes.

It started off like just any other morning, being dropped off at the airport, checking my bags, and going through security.

As usual, I was on time.

I was excited for my mini vacation to begin. I haven't had one in 3 years. Still trying to switch into 'vacation mode', I splurge for a Starbucks Apple Chai Tea only to find that they were out of apple juice.

What? How could Starbucks be out of apple juice? They are the almighty Starbucks.
The end all be all of coffee shops.


So it begins. The pattern for a memorable beginning to my vacation.

So instead, I splurge for a tall CAFFEINATED English Breakfast Tea. Since I don't drink caffeine, this was quite the party for me.


I find my gate and plop myself down, arranging my belongings and settling in. I was claiming my territory, so to speak.

I begin to chat away between my Yahoo instant messenger and Facebook sites. I'm about thirty minutes into the fun and banter when I notice couple eating ice cream at roughly 10 am.


I decide to comment about it on Facebook. Pizza is much more appropriate for morning vacation food.

But that's just me.

I enjoy the witty comments back and fourth about the ice cream eating couple, when I notice a flash in the corner of my eye.

I look up.

I notice a man looking straight at me from across the way; he ever so nonchalantly slides his camera under his jacket and continues to look at me.

I give him a look. A long, intimidating look. A look that says, I know you took a picture of me, and you know that I know you took a picture of me and I'm NOT happy.


So far, I don't have the tea I wanted and some whack job is snapping photos of me like I'm frigging J-Lo.

A banner day for me so far and it's not even 7 a.m.

A few minutes later, out of the corner of my eye, I notice across the room a man with a briefcase who walks over to an attractive blonde woman who was talking on the phone and waiting to board her flight to Martha's Vineyard. He leans over, drops his briefcase next to her seat, and whispers something in her ear. She looks at him quizzically, slowly nods, then he walks away.

Hmmm...interesting, I think to myself. So I decide to eavesdrop on the situation.

Because I can be nosey like that.

Nobody else noticed what I just witnessed. As I watch the man walk away I catch her eyes. She has a slightly concerned look as if she is regretting having agreed to what he asked of her. I mouth the words - "Do you know him?" She slowly shakes her head and mouths back, "No." I instantly turn to watch him walk down the airport corridor to see if he breaks out in a run. He is slowly walking further and further away until I can hardly see him.

My heart races, the pit of my stomach drops, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

This can't be good.

I look back at her. I give her a "what the fuck" look and she gives me a worried "what the hell did I just agree to" look back. I look at the airline crew at the check-in desk and contemplate telling them that some strange man just left his briefcase unattended with a woman to whom he doesn't know.

I am torn. Should I get involved? What happens if I don't? What happens if I do? I sit and continue to argue with myself trying to assess the situation.

I look back over to the woman. She begins to make another phone call. I can read her lips. She's talking to someone about what is going on. I can only assume it's in case she just happens to blow up. While she is talking, her eyes dart between me, and the area to where she last saw the man.

She is just as nervous as I am and we are both sort of waiting for the briefcase to explode. Yep. That would be my luck. I can't win the fucking lottery, but damn, I can pick the ONE airline that a wacko would choose to blow up.

I'm scanning three areas. The airline crew at the check-in desk, the woman with the briefcase, and the area where I last saw the man. I anxiously await his return. Seconds feel like hours.

I do this pattern over and over, contemplate if I should tell someone.

Call me crazy, but my gut says no. Lord knows the last thing I want to do is delay my flight.

A long agonizing fifteen minutes go by and I am still contemplating telling the crew. I tell myself two more minutes. If he's not back in two minutes, then. Then I'll cause total havoc on Gate 6.

The man returns just in time. The woman with the briefcase is pretty freaked out at this point, but trying to keep her cool. She is texting and making calls nervously. He saunters back and doesn't even stop to say thank you to the woman. He just walks up next to his briefcase, bends down, and in one swoop, takes the bag and keeps on walking.


People these days. I wanted to walk up to him poke him in the chest and say, "Hey buddy, what the hell was that?!" "Do you not hear the annoyingly redundant recording about leaving your bags unattended or with strangers??" "You should be damn grateful that I didn't say something to security and had your stupid ass hauled off to be questioned by the authorities!!"

It's amazing how brave my inner being can be sometimes.

But instead I stew in my own juices. I am actually very relieved that he was just a stupid, arrogant, asshole.
I sit in my chair and think; This is gonna be a hell of a day. I can feel it.

We board the plane. It's actually a great flight. I get my own TV, watch hours of Law and Order and forget about where I am.

It's almost like being at home.


We begin to land. Or should I say begin landing attempt number 1.

Oh yes.

It was smooth flying up until the time we had to land. I'm guessing the pilot was absent during the "How to Land 101" lesson in flight school, because he SUCKED at it.

He did it so badly that if he hadn't pulled up, we probably would have been on the six o'clock news in Ft. Myers.

It went like this;

We are in preparation for landing. Tray tables and chairs are in the upright positions.
Seat belts were on. We were descending onto the runway. I'm preparing myself to feel the pull back from the wheels hitting the ground. As we were coming in, the plane was a bit "wobbly." By wobbly I mean the plane was rocking left to right a bit more than what it usually does. This has me a little nervous, but I've experienced something like this before.

We touch the ground, and for a split second I am relieved. However, instead of being pulled forward from the landing, I am being pulled back suddenly with force due to the plane taking off again!

What the FUCK!?!?

I turned to the man in the next seat over and shot him a look. I must have looked panicked because he said calmly to me, "It's going to be alright."

The plane shoots up, does such a sharp bank, I am able to see the area where I was certain would be my final resting place. I'm waiting for the plane to flip. My hands grip the arm rests.

Yeah, like that's gonna save me.

I always wanted to plant myself permanently in Florida someday. Just not like this.

I am alternating between looking out the window and closing my eyes. After a few arguments with myself, I decide to shut the window shade and not see my impending death.

It's eerily quiet on the plane.

After what seemed like an eternity, the plane levels out and comes around again. Descending once more, the plane is not rocking as severe as the first time. I hear the wheels being put into place and the wings adjusting.

Let's try it again Ace.

The plane successfully lands and like an actor giving a poor performance; there is weak and staggered applause for the pilot. I get the feeling however, that most would have rather punched him in the mouth.

I can hear sighs of relief being expressed within my area of the plane.

Once we are able to stand and gather our belongings there is some angry mutterings and nervous laughter. Mostly just silence. I glance around the plane and wonder what is going through everyone's head. I look at the family who were seated in front of me. They hold a seven month old on their lap, and still obtained the lovely shade of pure panic white on their faces. I mention to them sarcastically what a brilliant landing it was and the man replies, "That was not supposed to happen." "He was in trouble and HAD to go back up." He continued with, "This has happened to me three times in my life, and all were dangerous landings."

I knew this was going to be a hell of a day.

To sum up my vacation so far, I've encountered a creepy man taking pictures of me, a man who thought that leaving his briefcase with a stranger was OK, and a male pilot who didn't know how to land properly.

Interesting common denominator here. But I digress.

I get off the plane to meet my best friend. She is dressed nicely and laughing at me. She has already heard about the ridiculous landing and finds it funny.

I however, think otherwise and I'm still shaking.

She asks me if I want a coffee. I stop walking, shoot her a look and say are you fucking kidding me?!? Did you SEE that landing?!? then reply with, "Hell NO!" I need alcohol!"

She laughs as if I was kidding.

As we walk out of the airport and into the warm Florida air, my mind is still reeling from the morning events. Trying to make sense of it all, I can't help thinking;

I should of had the ice cream.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Cynicism meets Susan Boyle

I've just listened to Susan Boyle on YouTube and I have to say, I am utterly ashamed of myself.

Let me explain.

I log on to my Yahoo and there is a picture of her and a snippet of news about her surprise performance on "Britain's Got Talent" show. Now, I'm not one to check out the hottest gossip or the most popular searches on YouTube, so I had no idea of what I was in store for. However, what sparked me to click on this article I have to say, was her level of beauty.

Or, lack thereof.

I wanted to see what all the commotion was about. I was curious to see why America was making such a big deal over this rather unattractive middle-aged woman. I assumed that since it was a talent show, that she must have bombed miserably and the media was turning her into a national laughing stock.

William Hung comes to mind.

I am ashamed to say that my voyeuristic tendencies got the best of me.

I click on the link and what I get is a pre-recorded song of "Cry me a River" from ten years ago. That didn't satisfy me. I wanted to see the actual clip of what the hub-bub was all about.

So I type in "Susan Boyle" on YouTube and up pops this link :

I watch.

I hope you do too. It will change your perspective. It will bring you to tears. Hopefully it will make you ashamed of yourself as well.

She comes out, looking kinda dorky, a bit clumsy, but at the same time; confidant. Strong.
The audience laughs. She is undisturbed by the laughter. I can tell she believes in herself.

She gives her name and her age. Does a silly little dance. The audience laughs and rolls their eyes. Simon Cowell, turns to the other judges and makes a bit of a gagging face.

She says that she wants to be like a famous singer of whom I'm not familiar with. The judges and audience snicker. I snicker.

She is still undeterred. Calm even.

She then tells the judges what she will be singing. Everyone including me is waiting for her to fail.

How cynical.

What happens next is what I feel is a miracle. A higher power slapping us all in the face with the old saying "Don't EVER judge a book by its cover."

They cue the music. It's a beautiful song from Les Miserables.

She begins.

My jaw drops.

It is the most beautiful voice that I have ever heard. And certainly never in a million years would have expected it.

Nobody does.

She hits every note effortlessly. Perfect pitch, even tempo.


I am blown away. I begin to well up, amazed at what I am seeing and hearing.
The expressions on everyones faces are just like mine. Incredibly shocked and in total disbelief.

There is a influx in my emotions. I am ashamed of myself and proud of her at the same time.

I can't remember when I've had an experience that has given me such an emotional reaction.

Then I find myself being proud of her as if she is someone I am friends with. I am screaming inside, "GOOD FOR YOU! YOU SHOW THEM!" "How dare they judge you!"

But then I think, I am one of those who judged and scoffed as the audience did when she walked on stage. I am ashamed of myself for judging her on her looks alone. I thought I was above that.

She showed me. She showed the entire world, damn it.

I can't hold back the tears. She is magnificent. I watch as the video shows the faces of the judges, the audience. Every single one of them in complete awe and on their feet.

She continues to sing, unaffected by everyones reaction. It's like she doesn't see anyone. she is enthralled with her own performance.

She is whole. Satisfied. At home.

She finishes, thanks them and immediately starts to walk off stage as if they were going to kick her off anyway.

She is modest. She thanks the judges and is even shocked by their comments on her performance.


With one act of just going out and trying, with no sense of insecurity or self-doubt, going after what she wants with total disregard to what anyone has to say about her.

How lucky is she? Very.

She is lucky because she went after what she wanted regardless her age, looks, body shape, or style. She disregards anyone who snickers or gags at her or her dream. She stands strong in her beliefs.

How many of us have the strength to do that? Not many. We are cynical. We tell ourselves we are too old, or too fat or thin, too ugly, or not intelligent enough. We listen to the nay-sayers and the people who snicker at us. We believe them. We cower in fear. Believing that they are right, and we are wrong, we stop trying to persue our dreams for surely they must know better, right?


Susan Boyle defied all of that. She stood before us tall and strong and proved all of us wrong.

It's amazing how much of an impact one person can make on a nation. Good or Bad.

This time, it's good.

Real good.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Age sets in...

Okay. I give up. I'm forty-two and it's starting to show. Not from the outside perhaps, but certainly from the inside. I know this because I recently became injured by simply trying to complete a normal bodily function.

Around 2 PM, I notice that I'm acquiring a rather sharp pain in, well, to put it bluntly; ass. By 5 PM I'm quarantined to the couch in the fetal position as the pain becomes more intense. As 9 PM approached, there is no position that is comfortable enough for me, and tears are starting to run down my cheeks.

At midnight, I'm now writhing in pain and turning from one side of my bed to the other, and crying uncontrollably. I call my mother and ask her in between wails and pants to hit the nearest twenty-four hour Walgreens for some of that "H" cream. Like all good mothers, she says, “Of course!” asking me where the nearest one is.
"On Route 1 southbound", I say through my gritted teeth.

 “Well, how do I get there?” She says as if she lives in another town.
I snap at her with a very whiny, “You want me to give you directions!? I hardly know my own name right now".
Now, before you raise an eyebrow on how unappreciative I am being, think about it. I am sorry. How can I be more accommodating when the feeling of a hot, searing pirates’ sword is being shoved up my ass?

She arrives with the cream; I hobble up the stairs and ask her to wait a minute since I have a feeling that no "H" cream is going to solve my little 'problem'. It actually ends up making my pain worse. Now in addition to the searing pirates’ sword, I have a burning, itching feeling.

Oh, lucky, lucky me.

We head to the hospital, I donned in my most fashionable pajama's, a winter jacket and Birkenstock clogs. I am lucky I have shoes at all. Making a fashion statement is not a priority at this point.

I hobble into the ER and find no one. It's dead and empty. “Where the HELL is everyone?!” I say under my breath. The only person I see is a man in scrubs in the distance mopping the floor. "Where are all the nurses?" I ask in a frustrated tone.
The man shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head, then continues to mop the floor.

Yeah, thanks a lot, buddy.

By this point, mom notices the sign next to the phone and points to it. It reads - "During the hours of 11PM-7AM please dial 3300 for assistance".
What the fuck?! What ER does that? My mother picks up the phone and in a very motherly tone says, “Ah, Yes, Can SOMEONE PLEASE come out here and assist my daughter, she thinks she has hemorrhoids!”

Even with the extreme pain that has me bent over and in uncontrollable tears, I am still mortified. “MOM! Jesus! A little louder, I don't think the third floor heard you.” “Well,” she snaps, “What do you want me to do?!”

Christ. Shoot me, now.

After being led into an exam room, I wail for thirty-five minutes before a woman shows up and gives me a cheery “Hello!" as if no one heard me screaming in pain through the sheer hospital curtain. I am on my side, in the fetal position gripping the bed rail with my ass hanging out of my opened-back hospital gown.
Without introducing herself, she goes over to my area of ‘concern’ to take a look. I turn and say, "Um, are you the nurse or the doctor?" She stops smiles, and says, “I'm the PA. The Physicians Assistant." and starts to begin to examine me. She never tells me her name. But writhing as I was, “PA” was good enough for me. Knock yourself out, honey.

She lays a single touch on me and I'm about to show her my right hook. She steps back, chuckles a bit and says, “Do you want a pain med?”
I think to myself, Are you fucking kidding me!? Nah, let's do the examination Au natural just for shits and giggles. But instead, I let out a wailing “YEEEAASSSS!”
Again, she seems to think that this is all very funny then says in a condescending Donna Reed tone, “Well, I think THAT was a yes! I'll be right back with the shot.”

Twenty minutes later still in pain, my mother is starting to huff and puff in her seat about why it's taking so long for them to bring the shot. Five minutes after that she is looking out of the curtain mumbling to herself.
“It shouldn't take THIS long to get a shot”. I get the feeling that she's about to break out in a Shirley McLaine scene from the movie Terms of Endearment. You know the one, Debra Winger is in the bed all writhing and dying, and Shirley McLaine is screaming to the nurses, “Give my daughter the SHOT!”

Me, not wanting to bring any more attention to us than I already have, I say, “Please Ma, don't do anything, she'll be here.”
My mother shifts in her seat and retorts with disgust, “Well, I just think this is RIDICULOUS! It shouldn't take this long!”

A few minutes later a male nurse comes in, who was kind of cute until he smiles, revealing teeth that just look all confused about where their correct placement in the mouth should be. He gives me the shot and says “It's going to burn a bit.”

So, now my ass and my arm are burning, but it is a small price to pay for comfort. It takes a while for the med to take effect, but when it does, Wow, am I loopy. They may have stuck a fist up there and I wouldn't have cared in the least. For the record, I am not into any kind of kinky anal action- there is a reason for this disclosure.

The male nurse comes back and asks me how I'm doing. I turn my head to look at him and I must have given him a pretty whacked-out look because he starts to giggle and then makes a statement that makes even me under my drug induced haze stop and say, “Huh?"

He leans on the bed rails, gives me a quirky smile and says; “Now, you know, if your mother wasn't here, I would be asking you some pretty sensitive questions about what you were doing back there.”

I think to myself, Oh no He dit-n't!! Oh, Yes. Yes, he did.

He implies -in front of my mother no less- that I must be having some sort of freaky, sick anal sex before my arrival in the ER.

If I had my wits about me I would have given him a piece of my mind about professionalism in the workplace and personally UN-confused his teeth.

But, instead, this is what comes out. “Umm... I'm NOT that kind of girl.”

With that, he giggles, picks up a "Tell us how we are doing?" questionnaire, turns to me and says, “Don't forget to fill one of these out before you leave!”

I’m totally flabbergasted. Between the P.A. with whom I still have no idea what her name is and the S&M male nurse, I'm thinking the shot of Demerol is the safest bet so far. 
Notice I say "so far." Wait, it gets better.

I am now supposedly ready for the exam. The PA gets into position and proceeds to tell me to "relax". Yeah, right.
I try; however, I'm almost positive that the entire hospital hears me scream. I'm not proud. She gives me some Nitroglycerin cream after the exam so it will be completely numb. Numbing cream after an examination? Again, What the fuck?? Suddenly I'm not feeling so confident about the medical professionals in this hospital.

She straightens up and she tells me that it is not Hemorrhoids. I say, “It's not? Well, what is it then?” She pauses for a split second to contemplate making something up or just telling me the truth. She decides the latter and tells me she doesn't know. Then follows up that brilliant statement with, "Let me go look it up".

What? C'mon. Are you serious?! What friggan online Physicians’ Assistant degree do you have? What are you going to do? Google the phrase "ASS ON FIRE" and see what pops up?! These are the thoughts that run through my foggy, drug-induced mind. I look at my mother. She rolls her eyes.

This is my luck. I get Ms. Junior PA for a doctor, a masochistic nurse, and now the Demerol is making me nauseous. Beautiful.

Nurse S & M comes cheerfully back into my room and I ask for some water. My tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth and I tell him I feel nauseous.

He leaves and immediately comes back with a 'quick dissolving' tablet that is supposed to calm my stomach. It’s funny how quickly people move when you imply that you are going to vomit.

He says, “Here, take this.”
I said, “I need water.”
He says, “It will dissolve in your mouth”.
I said, “But my mouth is dry.”
He returns with, “But you're nauseous.”
I retort with. “But I NEED water.”

We lock eyes and pull a power stare down.

Don't fuck with me, boy. It's 3 AM and I've had just about enough.
His hand is still holding the little chalky pill out to me, while smiling- his crooked teeth are mocking me.

I take the tablet. It sticks to the back of my throat. It doesn't dissolve. It does exactly what I am afraid of. I tell him it's stuck and I need water. Why doesn't anyone listen to me?

He comes back with about one tablespoon of water, sweetly smiles and says, “This is all you're getting.”

Masochistic indeed.

Like a person who's been in the desert for months, I take the water and guzzle it down. Now I can taste the horrendous fruit flavored chalky pill sticking to the back of my throat. I made a face, because Nurse S&M says, “You like that? Fruity, isn't it?”

Damn him and his confused teeth.

So now I'm waiting for Junior PA to come back with her internet discovery. I'm nauseous, have a screaming migraine from the nitroglycerin cream they put on me, and my ass still hurts.

A swift twenty minutes later she comes back saying that the doctor on duty who has not seen me, says that what I may have is called a spastic colon.

"A what?" I say.
“A spastic colon.” she says.
“How do you know that?” I asked. I'm sure she must have Googled it. She then began to explain how she came up with the diagnosis. 
"I spoke to the doctor and described to him what it felt like when I did the examination, and he said immediately, "Oh, that's a spastic colon," said Jr. PA.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Well, she says, “When I had my finger in there, it was – well, please excuse me being graphic - like a Chinese Finger toy. You know, how it grabs on to your finger and you can't get it out?”
Jr. PA now begins to demonstrate by wrapping one finger in the other hand and pulling.

You're kidding me, right?, A Chinese Finger Toy!? Are you fucking kidding me?, I think to myself.  The only way she knew how to explain my medical diagnosis was by referencing an ethnic toy?! Am I being Punk'd? C'mon out Ashton because this shit just does not happen in such an upstanding hospital that I thought I was in.

What do you say to that? Do you respond with questions that reference other ethnic toys that don’t grab your finger like a Chinese finger toy for what your asshole should really feel like?? For example, I could say, “So Doc, you're saying that my ass should feel more like one of those American Water Snake toys? You know; the ones that you try to hold on to but they just slip through your fingers. Like one of those?”

After some discussion about if she is sure she is right, and maybe it is something else, she gives me instructions, any prescriptions that she has written, and before leaving, she closes with the generic, “You will need to follow up with your GP since this is not my area.”

REALLY!? Thanks for clarifying. I would have never guessed.

Nurse S&M hands me my discharge papers and I say to him, “Will she be back?” he gives me a weak smile and says “No.”

With that, I slowly get dressed. But before I go, I use a little plastic pink basin and vomit a chalky paste that stuck to the back of my throat which leaves me with one thought -if only I had more water.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

I'm done...

with Bulletin Boards. You know the ones, they are the quirky, sometimes serious, most of the time waste-your-time kind of places that you can go to and read what others opinions are on just about any subject. There are tons of them....for example. You can go to and look up their OMG! section where people spend their time writing about the flavor of the day celebrity and recent mishap or unfortunate event.  Do these people actually have this much time and effort to waste on something as brainless as this? Do they actually think that what they comment about will do anyone any good?

Maybe. Maybe not.

However, pointless the issue or the comment is, I'm sure there is someone out there who will take them serious and argue whatever point is being made. Ugh.

Which brings me to my point.

I was on one of those Bulletin Boards (I won't disclose which one) but I will tell you that it had to do with ADHD/ADD and parents who were seeking support and information about their child's new diagnosis. Now, at first, I found this board to be pretty helpful and in return, offered my menial suggestions and support to any "newbies" (as we like to call each other in the "bulletin board" world) or to anyone else who would read the post.

In this particular offer of assistance, there was a woman who was writing about her child's resistance with taking a medication. I immediately thought, HEY! That looks like a post for me! Since my own lovely little one gave me so much resistance in the beginning that I thought any day the Department of Family Services would be knocking on my door.

I had true experience. I thought I could do some good here. Make my offering! Support the cause! Rally 'round girls! The cavalry is here! Duh-da-da!

Unfortunately, in reality, it was:


I make myself comfortable at my desk and my coffee cup by my side, I begin typing to "Bluemommy" my condolences and support of her latest issue. I go on to write to her about what I do with my daughter's medications how well it worked for me and that maybe it would ease her pain as well. I edit my post, make sure my grammar is correct, and click "post". Proud of my support to the ADHD/ADD message board society, eagerly I sit back and await her response.

What I wasn't expecting was a BARRAGE of angry responses.  Not from the original poster, but from just about EVERYONE else telling me IN CAPS and BOLD fonts that what I had suggested was not supposed to be done. EVER!  Well, I was quite shocked, and frankly taken aback by what they said. I take a minute to process what they wrote. Reading and rereading every line.

Were they being mean, or perhaps helpful? Maybe they were just know-it-alls. I wasn't sure. So me, being me, took the high road.

Assuming that they were knowledgeable and being helpful, I wrote back that I was going on the instructions of my doctor and would never assume that what I was doing was upon my own discretion, and thanked them for their assistance. Okay, I wasn't that polite, but I wasn't nasty either. After all, of course, I was giving them the benefit of the doubt.

The next response blows me away.

In the post, this person explains to me the difference between a Pediatrician and a Psychologist (as if I didn't know the difference) and then continues with implying that my doctor is only giving me the medications because of the special 'perks' doctors could get while accepting free samples of a particular medication. As if handing me two free samples is going to get her a trip to Cabo.  The person goes on to write that my doctor has no idea what medications she is giving out and that only a psychologist should be prescribing ADHD/ADD medications (okay, I agree that a psychologist should be part of the process, but not solely and I wasn't about to let on that I agreed with anything she wrote). 

I couldn't believe that this person had the audacity to tell me about my own doctor! The assumptions were outlandish! Like a train wreck, I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. An invisible force pushed me to read on.

"Abilify is ANOTHER example of marketing mania, because the REAL INTENDED patient population can't possibly buy enough of the drug to make the company a profit. So they greased the FDA, and now they are marketing a drug that was a last-chance treatment for dissociative schizophrenics, as a treatment for depression and ADHD!!!! This is unconscionable. For the population it was intended, the choice between the severe side effects of: Cerebrovascular Adverse Events Including Stroke, WORSENING of Depression, WORSENING of Suicide Risk, Inducing Mania, Neuroleptic Malignant Syndrome, IRREVERSIBLE Tardive Dyskinesia, Diabetes Mellitus, Seizures, and Convulsions, and being trapped in otherwise untreatable schizophrenia, WAS an option. NOT SO FOR SOME KID WITH ADD!!!"

What the hell this has anything to do with my little ol' comment about easing the administration of medications to a child was beyond me!

My summation:  Whack-o #1.

So, now my Italian is up. Gloves are off. You asked for it.

Here is my response;

"Wow. I don't know exactly how to take all of that, honestly. I understand your concern, however, I have only given out ( and anyone else who has been lurking this post) a tidbit of information. I apologize to whomever started this thread with the hopes of getting some assistance with an easier way to give their child a medication. The last thing I want to do is give someone information that may be wrong. So with that, I say to the original poster, please check with your doctor or psychiatrist on the best way to dispense a med. With that being said, I would like to state that you are right about the pediatrician only being a pediatrician. They are not a Psychologist. The information that you don't know is that my pediatrician has done extensive work in the ADHD field, and with Dr. Feingold himself for many years. She has extensive knowledge of medications and has decades of work behind her. She would NEVER push meds on to me just so she could get some 'treat' from a drug company. I trust her judgement, and combined with what I feel is best for my daughter and what her knowledge is, together we make the decision of what is right for her. I WILL NOT put my daughter on meds that I feel would be dangerous or cause serious side effects. I'm insulted in the fact that you assume that I have had absolutely no experience with ADHD or within the medical field and don't know the difference between a Psychiatrist and a Pediatrician. You have no idea who I am or what life experience I have just by a couple of inquisitive posts I may have written. With this, I ask you to step back, take a breath, and think about exactly who you are angry at.  As far as the drug companies go, I feel it is up to us; the consumer and parent to figure out, research what is best for US, and our family. To have you imply that I am ignorant to the fact of what drug companies are doing these days and the discoveries you have written about is simply an arrogant statement. 
I feel that each of us here cares enough to read, research, and find support about everything that is or could be effecting our children health and welfare. I think that is why we are all here, am I wrong?
This board has been helpful and there are a lot of good people here. However, I don't appreciate being attacked.

Take that, Bia-ch.

Even after my long-winded rant, I get a couple of other posts, suggesting that I "leave my doctor" and that she "obviously knows nothing about medications" and the biggest bomb, "if it is inhaled, it is deadly".

Hmm. Well, that one was quite serious now, wasn't it?

I paused for a moment and thought about that one. Inhaling a med? How does that accidentally happen?

I can't help it. My sarcasm steps up to the plate.

I wonder if she experimented with her child and let them snort their med. You know, like an easier way to get the child to take his/her meds. I'm sure she had grave results. Poor thing. Which is probably why she was so adamant about 'accidental inhaling'. Of course! It's all coming clear to me now!


 Just to appease myself and try to justify what they say (in-case of the off chance they could be right), I go to a drug website. I find that there is absolutely nothing there that states inhaling the med would or could be deadly.

Yup. You got it. I found  whack-o #2.

 So, again, me being me, I wanted to see exactly who is behind these incredible posts. I check their member profiles. You know, they have the "who I am, what I like, etc. etc., and up pops quirky, cute answers that are just 'oh-so-funny'!

Expecting to find maybe someone with some experience in the medical field. Instead I end up seeing that every one of these members are SAHM (Stay at Home Mom). Now, before getting on my gruff about SAHM's, I have absolutely nothing against them. It is a thankless job, and THE hardest job in the world and I have the utmost respect for what they are doing.

 However, my point being is that none of them state in their profile that they have the medical expertise that they are so urgently handing out to me and suggesting that I do. IMMEDIATELY and in BOLD! 

If there were some sort of  professional, educational, experience or tangible proof that they could show me, I would heed their warnings. But there wasn't.  All they had were their opinions. Opinions that were in the form of such false expertise. It is then I realize that if I was someone with half a brain, or didn't feel secure in how I parent my child;  might have followed these words of advice, entrusting complete strangers who have absolutely no idea who they are imperatively giving demands to, and I could have made some serious mistakes with my child.

With that, I  slowly nod and purse my lips.


I'm done.

The Bulletin Board world is on their own.

From now on, I'm keeping my 'opinions' to myself.

Friday, January 2, 2009

So Here We Are......

at the doctors office for her 4month visit, and we are discussing and assessing whether or not to increase my daughters medication (she is on a low dose of strattera) due to the fact that she is still having "behavioral issues with friends and teachers at school when I get that "it's time for Ritilin" look from her.  Noticing that look, I immediately I step in with "Wait, I would like to try a Gluten Free/Casin Free diet first". She sits back and listens. I go on to explain how much research I've been doing and how sometimes a Gluten Free diet can quiet the symptoms of ADHD. I ask her about what she thinks about Feingold, and recommended me to stick with the GF/CF lifestyle and to see where it takes us.


 I pacified the Doc for now. She's either giving me enough rope to hang myself, or she is beliving that a GF/CF diet can do some good. Either way, this is just the beginning and she pats me on my head and shoos me out the door.

So, with that, Jules and I go off and we do some food shopping for her new "diet". I used this word to describe to her what we were doing. I noticed really quick that even a seven year old girl will turn her nose up, cross her arms and plant her feet in the ground with resistance when referring to her new lifestyle as "diet".  Funny, I think that word is negatively embedded in the female brain while in the womb. Until just this week, we never used the word "diet" in our house and yet, she already hates what we're doing.

Sigh. And so it goes.

When starting a new "lifestyle" I have learned what to do and what NOT to do with a fussy, feisty, hyperactive seven year old:

So far, this is just a sample of  what I've learned:

Never bring the child into a regular grocery store just before lunch on the first day of the 'diet'. (I'm bright, aren't I?) This will make the child not only want EVERYTHING in the store, but want all of the foods that he/she can not have, resulting in the parent to keep saying "No" and the child start whining or crying stating over and over "I want my old life back", as the parent keeps pointing and smiling to the wonderful box of  Blue Diamond Nut Thins that come in a variety of 4 tasty flavors.....(however good, they are still the equivilant to the beloved Rice Cake).

Bring the child to the Health Food store that supplies all of the GF/CF food that he/she can have. Here is where we found Utopia! Ahhhh alas, the beloved box of cereal that we were looking for! The cookies! The frostings! The pastas!! (My girl is such the carb queen. I'm so proud!) YES! YES! YES! It was a glorious day! She had turned into a happy child! No longer whining about what she couldn't have, she was now wondering about which box of GF "oreos" she should pick from... oOOoooOhhh.. which one shall it be??

We left the Natural Food Store with my wallet lighter 78 bucks and a bagful (yes that was not a typo); ONE bag of GF/CF foods. My daughter, hopped into the car snuggly fixed herself in her booster seat, happily adhering to my requests for bucking up, excited about her new found treasures for her new "diet"....and from the drivers seat she hears a muffled sound that kinda sounds like whining and crying saying.........

 "I want my old life back!"